Chapter 12 - The Knife Man

  Reglan turned out to be a stout man with almost no hair, wearing a loose-fitting cream-colored shirt, baggy brown pants, and sandals. Despite his relaxed attire, he was fierce-looking, with piercing grey eyes and a furrowed brow. That frown lifted when he answered the door and found Emery on his doorstep.

  “My darling!” he barked in a deep voice. “What brings you to my door this fine afternoon?”

  Emery went to hug him. She was an inch taller, but his massive arms swallowed her up. When she stepped back, he frowned again and looked her up and down. “Have you been dragged through a hedge backward? Dirty clothes, smudges on your face, messy hair—what have you been doing?” Then he glanced at Arlo. “And why is this fine young fellow so spotless in comparison?”

  “You have a good eye,” she said with a laugh. “We fell into a hole in the ground. But my new friend Arlo just survived the Fortitude Pool.”

  Reglan’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, did he now?”

  “Yes, and I was hoping you could guide us. We found a key, and we’d like to know what it’s for.”

  “A key, you say?”

  Arlo dutifully pulled out the heavy object and handed it to the man.

  Reglan’s eyes widened. Then he clenched a tight fist around the key, glanced around, and waved his guests inside.

  With sandalwood-scented candles, neatly arranged bookshelves, simple but well-made wooden furniture, and a hearth that crackled gently, the burly man’s home exuded even more warmth and tidiness than Emery’s. A couple of armchairs were angled toward the flames, and the host gestured toward one of them. “You, sir, take a seat.”

  Arlo immediately felt comfortable and went to sit.

  Then Reglan smiled at Emery. “My sweetheart, go and clean yourself up. I must have been expecting you, because I heated a pail of water. And your mother’s clothes are still in the cupboard, yours for the taking.”

  “You were about to bathe?” she asked.

  “Yes, it’s nigh time,” he announced with a grin.

  “I don’t want to take your—”

  “Nonsense. I can bathe later. Wash your hair and face, girl, and change your clothes. Then come and join us.”

  She smiled and headed off to another room. This cottage was a little bigger than hers, with more walls. Still no internal doors, though. She disappeared into what looked like nothing more than a narrow alcove.

  Reglan sank into the chair opposite Arlo and opened his fist. He peered at the key with interest. “This, my young friend, was forged by the goldsmith at the old monastery. He’s long dead now, but I remember there was talk of a golden key that could unlock a small door set in a wall of solid rock. Inside is a priceless treasure.”

  Arlo’s ears pricked up. “That’ll be it. Do you happen to know where this small door is?”

  “Yes—at the monastery,” Reglan answered. He leaned across and handed the key back. “Don’t go waving this around in public, young man.”

  “Because I’ll be mugged. Got it.”

  Reglan shook his head. “Not exactly. People here aren’t violent. But walls have ears. Word has a habit of getting back to Midway. And those people are violent.”

  Leaning sideways to pocket the key, Arlo looked across at the stout man, who gazed into the fire, seemingly lost in thought.

  “Do you know what’s behind this small door?” Arlo asked him. “Do you know what the treasure is?”

  “Hmm. From what I understand, it’s the kind of treasure that would buy one’s entry into Midway.”

  “Money, then. Gold coins, jewels.”

  “I would imagine so.” Reglan turned and pierced Arlo with a glare. Lowering his voice, he said, “Who found this key? You or Emery?”

  “Uh, well, both of us. It was my idea to ride the quanthor, but she’s helped me from the moment we met. I’d say it was a team effort. Why?”

  “Because the treasure it unlocks could free her from the dangers of those above. She could buy herself entry to Midway and live without fear.”

  Arlo said nothing.

  “On the other hand,” the man went on in a quiet voice, “who’s to say Midway is any safer for pretty young ladies like Emery, with the likes of Layton and his men ruling the place?”

  Still Arlo remained silent. If this supposed treasure at the monastery really was a golden ticket to Midway, it would certainly make it easier for him to get there. And if he could restore the realm, then it would be better for all.

  Right?

  As if Reglan had read his mind, he gave a nod and gently tapped the arm of his chair. “I can tell you’re an outsider. Which means you’re here to save us. And if that’s the case, then you should be given every chance to do so. The key is yours, and so is the treasure.”

  “Um, thanks.”

  “And you shall learn how to throw knives.” Reglan grinned broadly. “Once you reach Midway, you will need the ability to defend yourself, and knives are easy to hide about your person. If I may ask: do you have a portable screen?”

  The question took Arlo by surprise. “A screen? Like a hologram? Well, yes. How do you know about that?”

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  “Ah.” Reglan nodded and rubbed his chin. “The last outsider did, too, as did all those that came before. Does Emery know you have a screen?”

  Arlo’s mind buzzed. “She can’t see it, but—”

  “Are you talking about me?” a voice behind them said.

  Arlo and Reglan twisted around to find Emery standing there, her hair bedraggled and wet but her face clean, and now wearing fresh clothes.

  “Yes, but it seems you already know everything there is to know, my darling,” Reglan said, getting to his feet. “I wasn’t sure how you’d handle the idea of an outsider being here, with his screen and everything.”

  She shrugged. “It’s strange, but it’s also exciting. I’m hopeful that the realm will be restored, and we can reclaim what we’ve lost.”

  Reglan gestured for her to come stand by the fire with him. As she drifted closer, he patted her gently on the shoulder. “My dearest Emery, please remember we’ve had outsiders here before. And they’ve all failed. You must not get your hopes up. However, we should most certainly do all we can to help.”

  Arlo cleared his throat. “Uh, you realize I’m still standing here, right? You’re saying other outsiders have entered this game—this realm—and lost?” He considered for a moment. “I guess that makes sense, since the realm is still inside a dome, but . . .”

  Did it make sense, though? If he won the game and restored the realm, everyone would win—but wouldn’t it all then be undone for the next Player? Otherwise, the game would have a limited shelf life. Maybe the realm had been restored many times over, including the characters’ memories.

  “What happened to the Players before me?” he asked, suddenly nervous about the answer.

  Reglan pursed his lips before speaking. “Some died here. Others made it to Midway and joined Layon’s gang. Others just vanished, and nobody from Midway has ever deigned to explain what happened to them.”

  Arlo closed his eyes. “I have so many questions.” He struggled to think straight. “So—”

  Reglan abruptly climbed to his feet. “If we’re going to talk, let’s throw knives at the same time before the daylight slips away. Come outside.”

  Somewhat reluctantly, Arlo followed the man outside, with Emery in tow.

  The backyard was small and fenced in. Other than a dirt floor and a patch of errant grass in one damp corner, there was very little of interest except for the large, circular, painted target nailed to a post. It was wider than Arlo’s arm span, as he discovered when he stood in front of it and tried to reach both sides.

  To his horror, a massive knife thudded into the target half an inch from his neck.

  He stumbled away. “What the hell?”

  Reglan doubled over with laughter, almost dropping several more knives clasped in his hands. He’d sneakily grabbed them while Arlo had been checking out the target.

  “Relax, boy. I could throw knives at you all day long and never touch a hair on your body—unless I wanted to, of course. Now, come over here.”

  There was no time for questions during Reglan’s crash course on knife throwing. Arlo’s first attempt failed miserably, and the knife hit handle first and bounced off. His second and third attempts were the same. The fourth struck the target near the bottom and partially stuck in at a steep angle—then fell loose.

  Reglan laughed and took the knives back. “Okay, that’s how not to do it. You’re holding the knives by the blade, for starters—a classic rookie mistake. There’s not enough distance for a full rotation. Throw from the handle and use a finger to prevent the spin. Watch.”

  He took a few steps backward and, holding the knife by the handle, lobbed it with powerful grace. The blade embedded itself dead center of the target. His second throw hit the same spot—the blade literally dug in alongside the first, with the slight separation due to the thickness of the two hilts.

  “Damn,” Arlo muttered. “I guess you’ve been doing this a while.”

  “Since I was a wee lad,” the man said with a chuckle. He handed a knife to Arlo. “All right, take a good look. Find the balance point and notice the weight. Then I’ll teach you about distance and how to control the spin . . .”

  During the endless throws over the next hour, Arlo snuck in some questions that had been gnawing at him. Had anyone else found the key? No. This made sense from the point of view of a resident, since a quanthor couldn’t repeatedly crash through into the same old barn basement. This led Arlo to believe the game literally changed every time; the parameters were different for each new outsider, therefore maintaining a sense of continuity for the long-term residents.

  “Is it possible an outsider restored the realm already?” Arlo wondered aloud, then threw his knife hard. It stuck fast a few inches from the target’s center. “Maybe it doesn’t mean what you think it means.”

  Reglan squinted at him. “What are you saying?”

  “Well, what if restoring the realm actually means you all lose your memories? What if it only changes the landscape to something new, rather than putting it back to what you think it should be? For all you know, outsiders have won numerous times, and the landscape has changed each time, but you only remember the current setting.”

  Arlo hefted the knife, took aim, and prepared to throw. But the long pause made him glance over at Reglan.

  “Young man, that’s impossible. I know our memories of before are foggy, but I’m certain nothing came between then and now. If you make it to the Pinnacle, restoring the realm will lift the dome, and our territory will expand. Midway will be no more, as we’ll all be on equal footing. Our memories will sharpen as the past is restored to us.”

  I don’t want to burst your bubble, but I doubt anything is going to change for you even if I win this game.

  Biting his tongue, Arlo nodded and threw the knife. It hit the bullseye.

  Immediately, his screen flashed into view.

  Congratulations on mastering a new skill! Knife throwing will come in useful on your journey.

  Arlo automatically waved the screen away, for some reason afraid Reglan would see it—like it was rude, somehow. He realized it was akin to having a message alert on his phone during a client meeting.

  Still, it was nice that he’d developed a new skill. If game rules applied in the usual way, he would hit every target with very little effort.

  “Now,” Reglan said softly as he collected up the knives and headed indoors, “these are a little big to carry around in your back pocket, but I have a smaller set you can have. If just one throw helps you on your journey to Midway and beyond, then these lessons will have been worth the trouble.”

  Arlo thanked the man as he accepted the proffered set, which included six small but weighty knives tucked side by side into slots in a leather sheath. He strapped this around his right thigh, then hooked an additional vertical strap into his waistband, which kept the sheath from slipping but tugged on his pants. A good, strong belt was definitely in order.

  “Where’s the monastery?” he said as he and Emery stepped outside.

  Emery glanced sharply at him, then at her uncle. “The monastery? Is that what the key’s for?”

  Reglan gestured airily. “You were changing when Arlo and I discussed that. But yes, there’s a small door there.” He studied the sky. “It’s getting late. I would recommend visiting the monastery in the morning.”

  Emery leaned close and kissed her uncle’s cheek, then hugged him tight. “Thank you.”

  “Yes, thanks,” Arlo said, shaking the man’s hand.

  The two set off together. But as soon as they’d left the house behind, Arlo tugged on Emery’s elbow. “So where’s the monastery?”

  She frowned and paused. “My uncle’s right. We should wait until the morning. The shriekers—”

  “We’ll hurry,” Arlo promised. “I won’t sleep tonight if I’m lying in bed wondering what I’m going to find behind that locked door. I need to know now.”

  She looked troubled, but he stared at her so intently that she sighed and nodded. “It’s this way—but we need to move fast.”